Chapter Nine: A Request for Backup
One had never seen a mission go to shit, especially one that was supposed to be so simple. Too fucking simple. One grunted at the thought as he trudged through the forest. The fact remained that, despite all his years of experience, this was beyond him. The training Vladimir gave them all was little more than an outline. We should have been trained months for this. Not just told to not get bitten.
Though, that fucker who crushed Kaplan's face in wasn't too keen on taking a chunk out of him.
The dark shape of the helicopter appeared out of the darkness and One quickened his step toward it. He shifted his rifle to his opposite side as he slid into the cockpit. One snatched at the radio receiver attached to the helicopter console.
"One to Base, do you copy?"
One waited for an answer, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes darted from the radio to the forest outside. In the darkness, each tree looking like an approaching creature. We dumped two full clips into that fucker. One felt the white-hot shiver of adrenaline flow through him.
"One to Base," he spoke into the receiver more forcefully. "Do you copy?"
"This is Base," a voice replied on the other end. "What is your status, over?"
Fucked, is what One wanted to say. His jaw tightened as he pressed down the button on the side of the receiver and spoke.
"Requesting backup," One replied. "Our pilot is dead. The situation was far worse than what was anticipated. Over."
Silence befell the cockpit once again. One's heart felt like a jackhammer against his chest. He wiped his bald head with the back cock of his gloved hand but grimaced when it seemed as though the only thing it did was slide the sweat across his forehead.
He wondered how long HQ was going to keep him there. One wasn't the biggest fan of Vladimir. During his time as a mercenary, One had met various people across the world, either friend or foe. Some had been the most dangerous individuals in the world—hunted, feared. Yet, there was something off about Sergei Vladimir that One had never been able to pinpoint. Maybe it was those gray eyes or that constantly stoic disposition. It was something that went past simple sociopathy. It was almost as though he weren't even human.
"Comrade," a thick, Russian accent issued from the helicopter's radio. One took a quick intake of breath and straightened himself up. He kept his face blank but deep down he felt the sliver of embarrassment—as though the colonel could read his thoughts.
"Colonel Vladimir," One replied. "This is One from Bravo team. We have encountered complications with the mission. Our pilot has been terminated. Requesting immediate backup, over."
"Your request is denied."
One's brow furrowed, yet somehow, he wasn't surprised.
"Sir—"
"Comrade One," Vladimir's voice slithered out of the radio like a serpent. "You were hired to do a retrieval, is that not correct?"
One grunted in response. The retrieval. No one else on the team had been briefed on it—some top-secret project that Umbrella was working on. So top-secret, no one else could be trusted with the knowledge.
"That is your mission," the colonel continued. "The others are inconsequential. Is that clear?"
So, they were all just meat shields, One thought. It was bound to happen in this business.
"Clear, over," One replied. With that, the radio went blank.
They were completely on their own.
"J.D to One," a voice crackled through the radio on his belt. "J.D. to One, over?"
One grabbed the device, brought it to his lips, and pressed the button on the side. Something screeched in the night. One's head didn't move, but his eyes followed the sound. Probably just a barn owl, though under the circumstances, it was One's or anyone else's guess.
"This is One," One replied. "J.D. what's your position, over?"
"I'm in the courtyard, or whatever's left of it anyway," J.D.'s voice came from the radio. "I with Olga and rendezvoused with Rain. We were attacked by a B.O.W. It killed Olga and I was knocked out. When I came too…" A moment's silence broke in the air. One's brow furrowed.
"J.D. are you there, over?"
"We're not alone, over."
"Not alone?" One asked, tensing. His eyes darted toward the dark wood surround him and the helicopter. Though he didn't see anything, he felt eyes pressing on his position. It wasn't then that he realized the pregnant pause, and he hastily added, "Over."
"There were two of them," J.D. replied. "I think one was a woman, the other a male. I couldn't see well. When I came-to, they had Rain at gunpoint. They led her off, over."
One's brow furrowed until a set of deep creases marred his bare forehead. Interceptors. Every company had its fair share of enemies and competitors and Umbrella was no exception. Tricell and Wilpharma just to note a couple of the big ones. One was sure that the bigger competitors had an idea what Umbrella was up to, might even have helped Umbrella on in their own little way, but they were still competitors. Cloak and dagger business—espionage and mercs. Spies. Though, One thought it was ballsy, even for corporations as large as Tricell and Wilpharma, to try and rummage in Umbrella's backyard.
"Did you catch where they were going, over?" One asked.
"No," J.D. replied. "I couldn't hear shit, over."
One nodded to himself. There was only one conclusion. Whatever Umbrella wanted him to recover, others hunted for it as well. And I'll be goddamned if two lackeys get in my way out of here.
"Go to the tunnel's entry point," One said. "We'll regroup there. Over and out."